


And maybe I don't give a damn anyway

by xephyr



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, I mean it came out 2 years ago but I guess it's worth mentioning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Referenced Drunken Shenanigans, Serious Injuries, Spoilers for TF Comics #6: The Naked and the Dead, Surprise Kissing, big dick sniper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr
Summary: After a successful kill, sometimes you find yourself imbued with a sense of courage you didn't know you had.Well, maybe courage isn't the right word. Actually, forget the whole thing.After you put a bullet in a man's head on purpose, you maybe get a little horny.(Set during TF Comics #6: The Naked and the Dead because I decided I needed to write TF2 fic in 2019)





	1. Chapter 1

Running into the bushman while he was sleuthing around the Grey Gravel Co. headquarters had been a complete accident (whether it was a lucky or unfortunate one remained to be seen) but they both knew their odds fared better with the two of them rather than by themselves, so they went with it. Seeing him again was jarring considering the last time he had seen the man he was bleeding out in the waters of New Zealand after being shot twice and from what he knew, had died not long after. The Sniper that was trailing close behind him through corridors was decidedly _not_ dead, though he seemed quite worse for wear with a few alarmingly deep and long gashes in his chest that had been stitched up and were slowly but surely reopening again if the trails of fresh blood were anything to go by.

In the precariousness of the situation, they had not exactly had time to chit-chat. Though, he figured he’d ask.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, ‘m not now,” was his gruff reply, and that was the end of it. Spy decided that was good enough.

Incapacitating the Gray Engineer was easy enough with a few well aimed slices of his knife along the wiring of his robot legs, making him topple over and cursing him out the whole way down. With no mobility, Spy had planned to leave him there shouting for help he’d never get because he personally thought it was rather funny, but Sniper had decided he had enough of the man’s screams and hit him over the head with a slab of wood he’d gotten from the door when they broke in and it had splintered apart. Not necessary, but he supposed he wouldn’t complain.

The Gray sniper was another matter entirely. Old and gnarled as he was, his senses were still sharp and he was in much better health than the engineer had been. He and Sniper formulated a quick plan to get him out of his nest and knock him out cold as they had done with the engineer before he could do too much damage to their team. Spy used his disguise kit to morph into the other engineer, metal legs and all, and he had made his move to carry out the first part of his plan.

“The boss wants me _now_? They’ve got guns now, Fred.”

The next thing he knew, he had been shot in the knee and he went tumbling down onto the very hard concrete floor as the hydraulic door whizzed shut. Ok, this wasn’t working at all.

But, to be fair, he hadn’t exactly expected the man to have bionic _eyes_.

“Now I’d be very careful with your next words, because they’re lookin’ to be your last.”

In the corner of his peripheral vision, he could see Sniper’s bare fucking ass scooting along the glass panel windows. He didn’t dare even spare it a glance, partly so he didn’t give him away and partly because he genuinely did not want to see it.

Time. He needed to buy time. Sniper was very carefully making his way across in his grand plan to do… whatever it was that would get them both out of this, so he thought fast.

“Before you kill me, do you think I could have a cigarette?” He grinned slyly up at the other man, trying to cover up a wince from the throbbing of his kneecap that was now pooling blood underneath him. Either this plan would work or it wouldn’t. If not— well, at least he would have had a smoke before he kicked it.

“Sure, have one of mine. I want to kill you myself, so none of that cyanide business.”

Slowly, Sniper moved farther along the window. He needed to speed things up before the situation got more dire than it already was. Luckily for him, apparently, this sniper liked to hear himself talk.

“I don’t want you goin’ quick, I plan on taking my time--” At the sound of a window opening he whirled around only to be looking down the barrel of his own rifle with a very naked Sniper aiming directly at him. He would have looked like quite heroic had he had any clothes on. Spy had to admit he was impressed with the man’s apparent ability to improvise.

“Now son, let’s just—“

The rifle fired, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Slumping back against the wall behind him, Spy took a long drag from the dead man’s offered cigarette. It was only respectful, after all. It wasn’t a flavor he particularly enjoyed, but _c’est la vie_. “That took you long enough. You snipers are the worst people on the planet.”

Sniper dropped the rifle back on the table with a sigh as if it suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. He was losing a pretty decent amount of blood, he supposed. “He wasn’t a sniper, he was a sadist. There’s a difference. Snipers don’t muck around with gutshots and monologues. We just take the shot.” He made his way across the room and sat down next to him, apparently grateful to have a moment to rest. “Gimme one of those.” He nodded weakly towards the cigarette Spy had propped up between his fingers.

After locating his lighter and a loose cigarette in his pocket, Sniper took a shaky hit and released a plume of smoke into the air. They both sat in silence for a while as Spy tried to focus on anything that wasn’t his aching knee and Sniper presumably tried to do the same with the gashes on his chest that were now bleeding quite freely. They may need to get out of here soon before he bled out.

“I don’t get to do that often anymore,” Sniper muttered after some time as he nodded toward the direction of the dead man on the ground some feet away. “Kill people for real like that. Feels kinda nice.”

“Hm.” Spy took another drag, giving the other man a sideways glance. He knew what he meant, of course, but he didn’t want to sound as insane as the bushman just had by admitting it out loud.

After another weak hit, Sniper stubbed his cigarette out, which seemed to be an awful waste. “Sorta makes want to do somethin’ a little crazy.” He turned towards him, and Spy was suddenly and fully aware of the Sniper’s attention on him.

Spy hummed thoughtfully in response once again before his suit lapels were being tugged and he was pulled towards the naked man, a hot mouth covering his insistently and forcefully as the sharp scent of smoke assaulted his senses. Their teeth clacked together uncomfortably and Spy very nearly almost dropped his cigarette.

He grabbed ahold of Sniper’s wrists and tore them off of him, pulling back with a gasp for air. Sniper’s face fell as he backed off in turn, probably realizing he had made a terrible mistake.

Which, of course, he had.

“Do not put your filthy hands on my suit, bushman.” Spy sneered easily at him as he took one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out against the concrete. He’d get another one later. Before the Sniper could withdraw into himself fully and feel embarrassed for the next fifty years, Spy grabbed his wrists again and pulled his hands up on either side of his now very smug face. “Up here if you must, _cher_.”

Sniper only had a fraction of a second to look shocked before Spy crowded back into his space and kissed him with much less fervor than the Sniper had just moments ago. This was a very welcome distraction to his throbbing and probably shattered kneecap and he found that he wasn’t actually averse to kissing the man and-- Oh, fuck, wait, they had done this before and he had completely forgotten until this exact moment.

The hazy memory flooded back into focus in his mind’s eye and he almost wished it hadn’t. It involved a lot of frantic pawing at each other’s clothes in a supply closet after way, way too much to drink at Scout’s Tonsillectomy party some years ago. The Administrator had told them all that they could only take time off to party if they had a significant event occurring in their lives and as it happened, Scout had his tonsils removed and Demoman had beer. The eight of them (Scout had been omitted from the decision-making process because of said tonsillectomy) none of them could find any fault or moral issue with the idea so they carried it out to the fullest.

However, some of them, himself included, underestimated how strong Demoman’s beer was and got truly and stupidly drunk. He really should have thought that through, but it seemed like a good idea at the time as everyone decided they would drink extra in honor of Scout because obviously, that needed to be done. How that evolved (or devolved) into Spy and Sniper furiously making out in a supply closet he’d never been able to piece together, and he doubted he ever would. Their hands were at each other’s clothes in a rush to get them off, but in their drunken states neither of them had adequate enough motor control for buttons and zippers so they had given up on that fruitless endeavour. The kiss was awkward and messy with none of the finesse Spy usually cared for but in that moment it hardly mattered.

It was different, he mused as he kissed him in the current day, doing this with the Australian while they were both sober. Better, probably. For starters, Sniper wasn’t rushing to push off of him so he could throw up into a trash can and Spy wasn’t collapsing against a wall and blacking out for twelve hours only to wake up in the same supply closet in a crumpled suit and missing one of his very expensive shoes. It was no wonder he had forgotten about that.

Sniper’s mouth was so hot and so wet that it was almost overwhelming, but he was finding that he didn’t mind it so much as he attempted to reign in some control and convince him to _slow down_ with a different angle of their slotted lips and a few insistent but gentle nips the other man’s lips. At the feel of Spy’s tongue lightly sliding against his, Sniper groaned as he finally pulled back and let his arms fall to his side. He looked utterly debauched as he tried to catch his breath, a flush high on his cheeks and slick bitten lips and Spy had to mentally pat himself on the back for his handiwork.

“Good?” He asked, grinning at him as he surreptitiously caught his own breath. It hitched in his throat, however, as he chanced a glance lower down. It had been very good, apparently.

The other man didn’t miss the look. “That’s one of the downsides of not having any pants, I guess.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “Or upsides, I don’t know yet. Depends on how busy you are for th’ next few minutes.”

Spy laughed out loud at that. “You don’t have high hopes for your stamina, I take it.”

“Nah, mate, just being honest. I was dead for twelve hours.” He shrugged again as if that explained anything.

It didn’t seem like Sniper was going to elaborate further, so Spy left it at that. Another problem for another day, perhaps.

He considered his options for a moment before bringing one of his gloved hands up to his mouth, biting down on the tip of his fingers and peeling it off in one fluid motion. Sniper’s eyes fixed on his now bare hand, seemingly entranced with it. It was, he realized, probably the most the other man had seen of him.

“I’m not going to let you ruin my gloves,” He said in way of explanation.

“I mean, y’don’t have to if y’don’t want to.”

“If we’re going to find our way out of here, it might be easier if you didn’t have a raging hard-on. For both of us, I would think.” Sniper looked back up at him, considering his words. “I am simply solving the problem.”

He didn’t have to consider for very long, however. Well, at least he had the decency to pretend he had any moral compunctions.

“Yeah, alright.”

Spy decided not to waste any time and Sniper hissed at the first contact of skin on skin, and he privately marveled at the sheer girth of it in his hand. He had spit into his palm beforehand to add some slickness, but there was still more friction than he had necessarily wanted. Still, he knew that a hand was a hand and that Sniper probably didn’t mind too much judging by the soft sounds that were escaping his lips, especially if it had been as long for him as it has for Spy. He set a leisurely pace, tightening his grip on the upstroke the way he generally liked it and Sniper had let his eyes fall shut as he rested his head back against the wall.

“Can you go a little-- yeah, like that.” Sniper breathed out as Spy sped up marginally. Spy was only half listening to him, too enthralled by the rather enormous (and gorgeous, if he was being honest) uncircumcised cock twitching in his hand, precum beading at the tip. He could think of a couple things he might like to do with it, but that would have to be some other time. He had nothing on him and he was in no way prepared for something of that size and most importantly, maybe, was that they had no time. They still had to find their way out of here and back to the others, assuming they weren’t dead yet. They shouldn’t be, in any case. If they were, oh well. There was nothing he could have done.

Feeling compelled, he trailed his hand down further to toy with his rather sizable sac and that seemed to do it for Sniper. His own hand took place of where Spy’s once was as he pumped himself furiously, screwing his eyes shut. “Keep doin’ that, fer the love of fuck--”

“Aim away unless you want a mess,” Spy gently but firmly reminded him as his eyes struggled with where to settle. He wanted to see his face as he came apart but he also found great joy in watching cum splatter against whatever surface it came in contact with. Disgusting, maybe, but he liked what he liked. He decided, then, on the latter.

Sniper arched his neck back even further, making an audible sound as his skull collided against the wall in a way that would surely bruise him later. He hardly made a sound as he came, remembering to aim to the side at Spy’s insistence. His release spattered against the concrete as he pumped himself for every last drop and he finally released his cock as it softened against his hip. He wiped whatever remained on his hand on the wall with a grimace, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Good?” Spy found himself asking again. At Sniper’s weak nod, Spy grabbed onto the wall in an attempt to stand. Oh right, his fucking leg. He managed to stand up as he leaned against the wall heavily, waiting a moment for the dark spots in his vision to clear.

“If I’d had known kissin’ you was gonna be like that, I might’ve done that a while ago.”

Feeling steadier with the wall at his side for support, he was able to shoot Sniper an absolutely withering look. So he had forgotten it as well. “You have.” Sniper opened his mouth to retort, looking taken aback, so Spy cut him off before he had the chance. “Scout’s Tonsillectomy party. Two years ago.”

Spy could see the gears turning in his head as he desperately wracked his brain for any recollection of said event. After a few moments, recognition dawned on him and his eyes widened in horror.

“Oh God.”

“Mm, yes, my thoughts exactly. Now, are you ready? Then let us move.”

Sniper was still trying to regain his composure as he gestured towards Spy’s crotch. “Mate, don’t you--”

“There is no time bushman, and god knows we have wasted enough of it already.” He gestured towards the dead man in the middle of the room. “That, and I typically cannot get it up when the fetid stink of decay lies so near.”

Sniper wrinkled his nose as he looked at the other sniper’s lifeless body, almost as if he had forgotten he was there. “Oh, right.”

“Later, though, assuming we survive this, I may not be averse to trying this again.” Spy purposefully did not look at him as spoke, looking around for anything he could use to help support his weight with his now useless leg.

Sniper stood up after him, hooking one of Spy’s arms around his shoulder for support.

“My suit, you _imbecil_ \--”

“Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time. Look, I broke another door not too far down so you can probably use that for th’ time being. And, uh.” Color rose to Sniper’s cheeks and Spy might find it endearing if he wasn’t currently pissed at him for making his expensive suit come in contact with his sweaty and dirty skin. “Yeah, that would be nice, I think. What you said, I mean.” As he brought them both to the door, he swore under his breath. “Now how th’ fuck d’we get out of here?”

“Apricot.”

The door whizzed open and Sniper looked at him incredulously. He waved him off.

“It’s not important. Now, move!”


	2. Chapter 2

In all honesty, Sniper had pretty much forgotten about all their talk of going for a round two sometime. With all that had happened with Gray Mann and the ensuing debacle following their escape (Miss Pauling now had a lot more blood, Medic was in possession of a infant baboon with absolutely no explanation, and Soldier was tearing ears off of anyone who would let him), the idea of a quick shag had long since been pushed to the very back of his mind. Really, he couldn’t stop thinking about the baby monkey.

It was close to a week before he found himself backed up against the door in Spy’s room after being asked for some vague help with his revolver which, to his credit, he immediately recognized as bullshit. The other man’s thin lips were remarkably skillful in the art of leaving him disoriented and flustered and Sniper felt awkward and clumsy in comparison. He wished he had remembered to shave this morning.

Eventually and regrettably, he did have to pull back for air. Spy looked infuriatingly smug with himself as he continued down his warpath, unbuttoning Sniper’s shirt with deft fingers as he led him backwards towards his bed, turning them around at the last moment so the mattress hit the back of Sniper’s knees. As he flopped down onto the edge of the bed, Spy went with him, straddling his hips. He desperately wanted to touch him back, but he knew he couldn’t just yet. Well, he could, but he’d get yelled at.

“Take your stupid suit off first.” His voice was rougher than he had intended it to be but it evidently had an effect on Spy who had paused only for a fraction of a second before he started unbuttoning his eight billion dollar suit jacket.

Once he had taken it off he pulled out of Sniper’s space entirely and he had to stop himself from chasing after him. Spy, the sexy bastard, retrieved a hanger that had been hanging off one of the doorknobs in his room and almost looked apologetic as he turned his head back towards him. “It must be hung, of course. I would prefer not to have to get my ironing board out in the morning if I can help it.” The smirk was back as his eyes gleamed in the low lighting of the dim room. “Now, how much of it do you want off? This would be the best time to tell me.”

He didn’t exactly have to think about that question very hard. “All of it.”

Spy made a show of it, of course, but Sniper found he didn’t mind at all. After tossing his tie and gloves onto his desk he worked at the buttons of his dress shirt underneath and Sniper realized with a start that he was going to see more of this man than he had ever seen before. Just seeing (and feeling, God help him if he ever forgot how that hand felt) his bare hand back at Gray Mann’s headquarters had been exciting enough. Soon after, his top half was completely exposed and everything has been neatly hung up on their respective hangers. Sniper felt a little bit like a barbarian in contrast. To be totally honest, he hadn’t even looked at a hanger in the past decade. Even that estimate sounded somewhat generous.

All of it was off, sans the balaclava and his fancy tailored dress pants. He didn’t know if he should ask about that or not. Did he ever take that fucking thing off? Was he even able to? Was it a fetish thing? Worse than that, was he bald?

Spy looked him up and down with a raised brow as he worked on his pants and Sniper realized that he still had all of his clothes still on. He shucked his vest off and found himself pausing at his shirt, suddenly self conscious about the mangled scars that now covered the expanse his chest.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Spy stated simply, perhaps noticing his reluctance. “You will find that I am in worse shape than you.”

“I doubt that,” he muttered under his breath, but it was all the assurance he needed before he took off his shirt as well, letting it fall into a pile with his vest. He tossed his shoes in some far off corner and tugged his jeans off as well. He left his boxers on for the time being.

Spy was left in some obscenely tight black boxer briefs that left no room for imagination and they did a very good job at taking away from the fact that he still had the stupid mask on. Did he want him to ask? What was his game plan, exactly?

Spy let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes— alright, there was definitely a cue he had missed there— as he brought his fingers up underneath the hem of his mask, pulling it off in a fluid motion.

As soon as he did, Sniper’s blood ran cold in his veins.

His hair was actually a lot nicer and fuller than he expected it to be, only just beginning to go grey at the temples. It made him look more refined, if anything. But that wasn’t what caught him off guard. There was a rather distinctive scar on his forehead that extended into his hairline that his balaclava had always hidden, and Sniper recognized it immediately.

Spy’s eyes widened at him in turn, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “What?” He asked, with a definite tone of panic.

“Mate, I don’t know how to tell you this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the long forgotten memory bubbled its way to the surface. “But we’ve definitely shagged before.”

Spy looked at him as if he had grown a second head, keeping his voice very even and deliberate. “No, we haven’t.”

“I mean technically you’re right because we never got that far, but we did.” Oh, it was all coming back to him now. “Six years ago. The table tennis championship tournament in Milan. I remember that scar on your head.”

The other man narrowed his eyes at him, still not catching on. “I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.”

“I had long hair back then. A goatee, too. You made fun of my form, we knocked back a few too many, and uh.” He scratched his neck, embarrassed at the memory. “Well.”

Honestly, it wasn’t his favorite memory. He didn’t like Milan, first of all. The people were rude, the food was strange, and he had only been there to support his dad who was participating in the championships. He was mostly there because his mum had asked him to be since she didn’t want to take the long flight up there and Sniper, in between jobs at the time, had agreed. 

The tournament itself was insanely boring. He could only watch the damn ball go back and forth so many times before the sound drove him insane and to make matters worse, there a slew of teen boys there causing more chaos than was strictly necessary at a table tennis tournament, much to the chagrin of their very young mother who was desperately trying to keep things in order. She seemed to be alone aside from her seven hundred children, and Sniper had felt for her. Looking back on it, that seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place why.

He had already been somewhat drunk at the bar (as you should be at an international ping pong competition) when a very handsome bloke had sat beside him, looking probably as miserable as he felt. Sniper, already feeling somewhat bold from the alcohol already coursing through him, started up an easy conversation with him. The other man had been cold at first, but opened up more and more as the glasses piled up. If anyone had held a gun up to his head now and asked him what they had talked about, he really wouldn’t be able to tell them.

They ended up in the other man’s hotel room (the penthouse, of all things. Thinking back on it, Sniper realized it really couldn’t have been anyone but Spy) and things got sloppy fast. Like, really fast. Sniper had crowded him up against a wall as they made out, feeling him up through his pants as he went, and Spy had very unexpectedly--

“Wait.” Now it was Spy’s turn to pinch the bridge of his very narrow nose, sitting down at the foot of his bed. There was definite regret laced in his tone as, presumably, the same memory was coming into focus for him as well. “Please do not tell me you were the one who had to call his mother afterwards.”

It just kept getting worse. “Look, there was a time difference, and I had to call before--”

“This is a fucking nightmare,” He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Sniper held his hands up in defense, desperate to salvage the situation. “In your defense, mate, I was really aggressive.” Spy looked up to give him a withering glare and Sniper hastened to add, “If it makes you feel better, I had a good ol’ case of whiskey dick after that. I could not jack off after that at all and ended up blue-ballin’ the hell out of myself and it was just... bloody awful.”

He really did not know what possessed him to admit that. Maybe it was because Spy had looked so pitiful for a second there. Not his brightest moment.

The silence stretched on for a dreadful moment before Spy started to laugh. Like really, truly laugh. Sniper didn’t think he’d ever seen the other man laugh so freely and earnestly before, and he found himself chuckling alongside him in the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Spy eventually calmed down, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. “This is terrible, isn’t it? I suppose this isn’t new territory for either of us.”

Sniper shrugged, fidgeting with his nails and pretending to be very nonchalant. He blew it, and now he was never getting laid. “If you’re, uh, not interested anymore, I get it. I don’t know why I said that thing about the whiskey dick.”

“ _ Au contraire _ ,” Spy practically purred at him as he swatted Sniper’s hands out of the way, sliding into his lap once again. “I need to make up for last time, I should think. You will find that I am actually quite good at this when I am not… otherwise distracted.”

His hands moved to rest on the other man’s insanely narrow hips on instinct. Ok, maybe he hadn’t completely fucked this up beyond repair. “Was somethin’ buggin’ you?”

Spy gave him another one of those looks that more or less suggested for him to stop talking. For some reason, seeing his facial expressions without the thin balaclava over his face seemed almost forbidden. “If you don’t mind, I do not wish to talk about it. Ever, if it can be helped.”

Neither of them needed any further urging before they were at each other’s mouths once again and Spy hummed appreciatively against him. Both of them had flagged quite considerably during the boner-killer conversation of the century, and Sniper was determined to fix that. He reversed their positions and flipped Spy onto his back with only minor struggle (he could stand to be in better shape, maybe) and hovered over the other man on his elbows, leaving barely an inch of space between them.

“How d’ you want this?”

Spy let out a breathy little laugh as he snaked his hand between them, palming over Sniper’s still-covered arousal that was slowly but surely twitching back to life. “I have decided that if you do not put this cock in me within the next five minutes, I am going to go insane.”

His mouth hung open as his brain short-circuited and the pressure of the other man’s intensified. Of everything he was expecting the Spy to say, that was not one of them. He ignored how red his face felt and answered as eloquently as he could.

“Ok.”

As soon as the word left his lips Spy was very insistently tugging the waistband of his boxers down over his hips and letting them bunch up around Sniper’s knees, which he hastily kicked off onto the floor. Spy’s own little underthing followed suit and Sniper paused for a moment to regard the slim man sprawled out beneath him.

Nothing was wrong with his dick, he concluded. Honestly, Sniper couldn’t say he ever found that much appeal in the aesthetic of a cock, but he could at least appreciate that he was uncut as well. Circumcised dicks weirded him out, for whatever reason. It just made more sense to him to have more foreskin to work with.

The narrowness of Spy’s frame made him lapse into another pause as he thought about the logistics that would have to be involved. However, it was a little difficult to think when most of his blood had rushed somewhere else. “You sure about this, mate? I’m not bragging or nothing, I’m just warning you that I’m kind of… big. People don’t always like it.” Because of that, he didn’t top often, but he left that part unsaid.

“It sounds as if you have only ever fucked cowards,” Spy grinned up at him as his hands splayed along Sniper’s hairy chest and traced along the edges of the jagged scar there. “Trust me,  _ monsieur _ , I know what I am getting myself into. And, from what I understand, I did say you had five minutes. I believe you are running out of time.”

Before he could ask where Spy kept his personal affects he was lightly pushed back and slid out from under him and made his way to his nightstand, rummaging through one of the top drawers with his rather shapely ass on display. He hadn’t expected Spy to have such a nice ass.

With his back turned, Sniper now understood his earlier comment about being in worse shape than he was. Spy’s chest had a few scars across it, as he more or less expected someone in this line of work to have. His back, however, was another story. All along his spine and shoulder blades were multiple deep and jagged scars, many of which that looked like they had never healed correctly and left gouges in his marred skin. Most of them looked old, but a few of them were still angry and pink, either from being rather fresh or from never being properly attended to. He figured it was a combination of the two.

He could ask, but he didn’t think this was the time or place for it. So he didn’t.

Spy turned back towards him and tossed a small bottle of lube in his direction and Sniper scrambled to catch it. “I prefer this when I am on top, and I assume you now understand why.” At Sniper’s hesitation, he gestured behind him with his chin. “Get up against the headboard, if you would.”

After some shuffling and tossing of pillows (which Spy did not appreciate) they found themselves in their earlier position with Spy’s knees on either side of Sniper’s hips and Sniper looking up at him through lidded eyes, his bare back leaning against the fancy headboard of Spy’s bed. He found himself being kissed again as Spy ground his hips down to meet his and he eagerly responded. Spy broke it a moment after, letting his forehead rest against Sniper’s shoulder and breathing harshly as he— ok, he was fingering himself right now and Sniper had to bite back a groan at the realization.

The bottle of lube popped open again (because it apparently had been earlier if the slick sounds of Spy working himself open were any indication) and Spy’s free hand slicked a very generous amount of it on his now achingly-hard dick. Spy was not one to beat around the bush, it seemed. If he wanted something, he went for it.

Spy apparently had decided he was as prepared as he was ever going to be and lined him up, easing down onto the blunt head almost impatiently. Any reservations Sniper may have had flew out the window at the very first second he felt that deliciously tight heat around him and his hands gripped onto Spy’s hips for dear life. Spy eased his way down inch by inch at a torturous pace and had to stop after a certain point to catch his breath, bracing himself on the other man’s shoulders.

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Sniper managed to choke out, taking the moment to collect himself as well.

He let out a small but noticeably strained laugh at that. “You underestimate me, bushman. I am just getting started.”

True to his word, Spy sunk down the remaining few inches to jolt him fully and Sniper had to screw his eyes shut to try and focus on anything that would stop him from finishing right then and there. He could not remember the last time he’d been taken completely like this, and if he even had. He kept his hips completely still in an effort to not instinctually buck up into that incredible heat and it was akin to a herculean feat of strength.

Spy muttered curses under his breath, practically shivering under his hands. “You need to start moving now before I break in half.”

He didn’t exactly need to be told twice. He established a slow rhythm at first, not wanting to overwhelm either of them so fast, but it was becoming apparent that it wasn’t enough for Spy. He started to roll his hips back in time and Sniper had to grip his hips tight enough to bruise, sparks dancing under his eyelids for a perilous second.

Thankfully, Spy took pity on him and eased up. “So soon?”

Sniper did not have the mental capacity to respond to that, having been on the razor’s edge not even a second ago. “Jus’ give me a fuckin’... second, here.”

Once he had faith that he could last for more than a second, he tried again at a steadier and faster pace, pulling Spy’s hips down to meet his every thrust. He couldn’t fucking believe he had been missing out on this for so long. It had been forever since he had been properly laid, and longer still since someone had been able to take all nine inches of him so effortlessly. It’s funny, in a way. He had always thought that having a big dick might be a blessing, but it had only ever proven to be a curse. Most people weren’t up for the challenge and honestly, he couldn’t blame them. Had he been in their position, he would’ve done the same.

For being so quiet on the battlefield and in every other aspect of his life, Spy was exceptionally loud in bed. Each moan and little sigh brought Sniper closer to the edge before he realized he should probably touch him. It was getting so hard to focus on anything at this point that it took him a second before he circled a fist around Spy’s length, pumping him in time with his now erratic thrusts.

The other man let out a long string of curses in Spanish— wait, no, French— as he buried his face into the crook of Sniper’s neck, and Sniper was relieved to find that he was as close as he was. He felt a very familiar heat blossom within him rather rapidly, and he knew he was done for.

This time he didn’t fight it and he nearly bit his lip clean in half trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t need to with Spy making as much noise as he was, probably, but he still got self conscious every time he did this. Spy clenched around him as he was filled and he was not far behind at all, needing only a few more strokes before he was coming between them.

Both of their chests heaved as they lay boneless against each other, their energy completely spent. Sniper wanted to say something, but forming sentences was beyond what his brain was capable of right now. He could think of one, at least. Fucking awesome. Wait, God damn it, that was two.

Moments passed before Spy slipped off of him, reaching back into his nightstand and obtaining a pack of his cigarettes and a lighter before flopping back down on the bed with his back to the headboard. With a gesture he offered Sniper one, which he refused. He wasn’t that big of a smoker, truth be told. Back at Gray Mann's headquarters he had remembered why he had never particularly liked it.

Minutes seemed to come and go as they sat quietly, Spy smoking himself into an early grave and Sniper plopped uselessly beside him, staring at nothing in particular as he got his bearings back.

“I’d say that was rather good.” Spy was the first to break the silence, throwing him an easy smile as he blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Something crossed his narrow features at his continued silence, and for a moment it almost looked like doubt.

“Yeah,” Was what he said in response. Great. He tried again. “It was fuckin’ incredible, mate. Nobody’s really…”

“I will feel it in the morning, I am sure, but I will say it again. Everyone you have fucked in the past has been a coward.”

Spy retrieved a cloth from his bathroom and tossed it at him, letting Sniper wipe himself off as he started on his second cigarette as he leaned a shoulder against the door frame, still completely naked. Once Sniper felt steady enough he extricated himself from the very comfortable bed to pick up his clothes that he had tossed around all corners of Spy’s pristine room in their haste and gotten dressed in silence as Spy watched him. He was waiting for him to leave, he realized.

The other man waited until he met his eyes before giving him another level grin. “Now that the option has been explored, perhaps we will be able to do this again sometime. If you are willing, of course.”

He didn’t have to think twice about his response as he made his way towards the door. “Yeah, definitely.”

“My only requirement, really, is that you never bring that ping pong tournament up again.” At Sniper’s nod, Spy waved him off, his expression hardening. “No, I need you to promise me. I do not want you to ever mention that to anyone. Ever.”

Sniper furrowed his brows together. “I’ll never bring it up again.” Apparently there was more to that event than he had previously realized.

“Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. _Bonne nuit_ , Sniper.”

He closed the door behind him, hearing the tell-tale click of a lock mechanism fixing into place as he was a few paces down the hall, still trying to piece together everything that had happened.

It didn’t matter, he decided. He was getting laid. And really, that’s the happiest ending there is.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can believe it, there's a part 2.


End file.
